


Emergency First Aid For Angels

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Parent John Winchester, Family Feels, Fluff & Angst, Gen, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Past Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel (Supernatural), Protective Sam Winchester, Reference to Past Parental Alcoholism, Reference to a Minor Shooting Someone (non-fatal), Sam Winchester Takes Care of Castiel, Sam carries Cas, Scared Sam Winchester, bad memories, mention of parental neglect, wing fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-27 20:41:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20766650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Cas’s wings get badly hurt protecting Sam, leaving the hunter doing his best to help the wounded angel.





	Emergency First Aid For Angels

**Author's Note:**

> Some of Cas’s injuries are a little gross so please be aware of that before you read on.
> 
> Cas’s condition causes Sam to remember a disturbing event in his childhood where John’s neglect caused 18-19 year old Dean to be physically assaulted and badly hurt and Sam had to fire a gun in Dean’s defence.
> 
> This story includes reference to John’s parental neglect and the deprivation it inflicted on his sons.

They’re not making it back to the bunker.

Sam’s not sure they’re going to make it back to the car, but they do; he has to half carry-half drag Cas, trying to keep his head, trying not to panic that Cas won’t answer him, won’t say where the blood streaking the back of his coat is coming from because there’s not a scratch on him, except…

Cas is _grey_ and his skin is clammy and sweat slick and he’s shaking so hard Sam has to fight to keep a hold of him.

He’s hurt and Sam isn’t sure why because exploding witches don’t generally hurt angels, not like they’d hurt humans, but it’s all Sam’s got and he floors it back to the motel, looking to the back seat as much as he dares, urging Cas to hold on.

++

It’s late and quiet when Sam pulls in.

He risks a quick glance around, but nobody’s around, nobody’s there to see him carrying Cas to their room, to hear him pant sorry again, again, as Cas whimpers in pain at being moved.

Sam kicks the door shut behind them, and puts Cas down on the bed, on his stomach, and steps back, hit in that instant with the knowledge that Cas is in a bad way and he doesn’t know why and that means he doesn’t know what to do.

“Cas,” he says, and Cas looks at him, eyes wet and red lined with pain, and he looks like he’s trying to speak, but then he jerks hard and shudders, and the entire room seems to rattle.

“Sshh, sssh.” Sam drops to kneel next to the bed, strokes his hand through Cas’s hair, feels his friend shaking beneath his touch. “Cas, you gotta help me out here. Where are you hurt?”

Cas’s fingers twitch as he reaches up and Sam takes his hand, starts to squeeze it, desperate to offer whatever comfort he can, but Cas pushes him back, weak, yet determined, and Sam starts to protest.

Is Cas...scared of him, while he’s like this? Or is he warning Sam, because whatever’s happened, it’s…

“Cas,” Sam says, voice breaking. He won’t believe it, won’t accept that this is it, again, and then the air around and above Cas starts to ripple and he stares open mouthed as Cas’s wings shimmer out of nothingness.

At least now he knows what’s wrong.

++

For so long, Sam had wondered what Cas’s wings looked like.

Dean had seen the shadow of them, that first night; Sam had tried not to be creepy obsessive over it, had been respectful and resisted the urge to ask Cas if he might, if they was a way he could see them and not suffer for it. 

And then he had seen them, burned to ashes around Cas’s body, and it felt like his dreams were filled with mocking laughter for weeks after until they found him again, alive and waiting for them to come and take him home.

He’s hearing that laughter again, now, and he feels like maybe this is something he’s done, somehow, brought on Cas, because he’s patched it all together in his head.

The way Cas dropped to his knees, and pulled Sam in tight, as the witch’s screams got drowned out when the world seemed to explode around them.

And then it was over and he was okay, but Cas…. Cas wasn’t.

He can see why, now.

Cas’s wings look shredded. It’s not the damage from before, that Cas has alluded to when his guard’s been down, that Metatron hinted at during those few encounters before he was stripped of his Grace and became a brief ally until he paid for it.

It’s fresh, and bloody, the feathers broken or yanked, the flesh beneath peppered with grit and shards of bone, everything kicked up and thrown at them like shrapnel when the witch’s spell backfired and put them at magical ground zero.

And Cas shielded Sam with his wings.

The wings droop over Cas’s back, bent against the floor, visibly trembling, and Sam doesn’t know where to start.

But they’re not going to get better with him just looking, so he runs out long enough to get his duffel from the trunk and grabs their medical supplies and lays them out beside his wounded angel.

++

Back when Sam was maybe thirteen, fourteen, John had hit a real bad patch and spent more hours drunk than sober, and there was no money for food and definitely no money for paying off their motel bill.

It’d been Dean’s idea to bolt, and he’d got Sam and their gear in the car, but it was going back for John that stopped them getting away.

And the guy who owned the motel, and his buddies, didn’t take too kind to them trying to split without paying their bill.

Especially since John had cash to get blitzed but not settle up. 

Their dad had been too drunk to do anything but slur and curse and he’d ended up in a heap on the ground as the guys had tossed Sam down next to him, and Dean had fought hard then, but it hadn’t helped.

Since Dean had been so eager to drive his daddy’s car, they’d give him a ride for free.

Tied to the back of it, dragged up and down the road a couple of times until Sam had pulled the revolver from his dad’s pocket and winged one of them when they were turning around again, and then John pulled his shit together enough to get up and take the gun and save his son.

But after, holy fuck, after, the bathwater was dirty grey and then it was red, and Dean was screaming by the end of it, until he passed out while John was scrubbing the dirt and the gravel from the road out of his skin.

It’s not much different now; there’s just less screaming, none really, just the creak of enamel under Cas’s hands where he’s gripping the bath tub hard enough to crack it.

Sam’s got the water lukewarm as he uses the shower head to spray down Cas’s wings, washing out as much as he can, and then being as gentle as he can when he pets them dry, hating himself for every sound of pain he causes.

After, he coaxes Cas back to the bed, has him stretch out the wings, and uses tweezers to dig out anything the water didn’t sluice away.

When he furrows out something buried deep in a swollen crater of flesh, and finds it’s a tooth, he has to hold his breath, try to fight down the nausea, because he doesn’t have time to puke, isn’t leaving Cas like this for a second longer than he has to.

He just wishes Cas would speak to him, because he’s starting to think he’s never going to hear Cas’s voice again, except for making those hurt, broken sounds.

When it’s done, and the wings are bleeding again from Sam digging out the debris, he goes for the balm Rowena gave them.

It wasn’t meant for wings, but that time the razor skinned thing they’d tangled with down in Vermont had ripped all three of them up pretty bad, and Cas just didn’t have the Grace to heal himself as well as them, and Rowena had cobbled something together to help him until he could, this was what she’d come up with.

Sam’s as gentle as he can be, whispering comfort as he daubs it on Cas’s wings, relaxing slowly as the angel does, as the balm settles into his wings and numbs the pain.

He’s grateful when Cas’s eyes drift shut, and finishes up and slumps down to sit on the floor next to the bed.

At some point, he sleeps, worry and strain pushing him under. 

When he wakes, in the morning, Cas hasn’t moved, but his wings are gone and Sam figures that’s a good sign.

He lets Cas rest another couple of hours, and then rouses him gently, and gathers their gear, sticks it in the trunk, before carefully settling the angel in the back seat, wrapped in blankets with pilfered pillows providing as much comfort as Sam can give. 

Maybe he’s fussing but Cas offers no protest or complaint, still looks hurt and worn down. 

When they have Dean back, Sam knows it’ll be better. But until then, they have each other so Sam will take care of their angel like he deserves. 

He reaches back and a moment later Cas’s hand is in his, squeezing once then letting go. 

Sam starts them for home.


End file.
